Page 19 of The Surrogate Mother

He gets up off the couch and stumbles in my direction, nearly tripping on the carpeting. Oh my God, how much has he had to drink? He plants a wet, sloppy kiss on my face. “We missed you. The leftover lasagna is in the kitchen.”

At first, I think he’s going to go get me some, but instead, he returns to the sofa next to Monica and falls back down with a plop.

“Are you drunk?” I ask him, eyeing the half-empty bottle of wine. Sam rarely has more than one drink, so that’s more than enough to put him over the limit. And presumably, Monica wasn’t helping him make a dent in the bottle.

“No!” He blinks a few times and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I barely had anything. We’re just having fun here. Right, Mon?”

“Abby.” Monica smiles up at me. I still can’t get over how much makeup she’s wearing. “You didn’t tell me how funny Sam is.”

I didn’t, because he isn’t funny. Well, sometimes he is. But certainly no more than average. Nothing worth commenting on. “Oh,” is all I can muster.

“He’s been telling me all these math jokes,” she says. “They’re really funny.”

Okay, I have heard Sam’s math jokes and they are not funny. The only thing funny about them is how incredibly un funny they are. Like how something is so bad that it’s good? Although I think the math jokes might have circled around and gone back to being unfunny again.

“Monica was a math minor in college,” Sam informs me. “Isn’t that incredible?”

Yes. Incredible .

She grins at him. “Do you have any other jokes, Sammy?”

Sammy ? She’s calling him Sammy ? And he’s apparently calling her Mon . When did they get nicknames for each other? How long was I at the office?

Sam scratches at his chin, thinking for a moment. “Um… why did the chicken cross the Mobius strip?” When she doesn’t answer, he says, “To get to the same side.”

Monica laughs louder than anyone should rightfully laugh at a joke about Mobius strips. And as she laughs, she grips his arm. “Oh my God, you are so funny.”

Sam notices me staring at them blankly. “Abby, a Mobius strip is a surface with one continuous side that—”

“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “You don’t need to explain it to me.”

There’s an awkward silence. Monica’s eyes dart around and finally land on the two plates on the coffee table. She reaches for them. “Let me bring these to the kitchen.”

“Hey, no way,” Sam says as he brushes her aside. “You’re our guest, and also, you’re pregnant. You let me take care of that.”

He’s being a gentleman like I told him to. I wish he would cut it out.

He seems steadier as he brings the plates into the kitchen. Monica gets up off the couch to follow him, but I step in front of her. “Hey, Monica,” I say. “Did you know there’s a meeting tomorrow morning at eight?”

“Uh huh.” She nods. “It’s on the calendar. The Cuddles people, right?”

Damn, even Monica knew about the meeting. What’s wrong with me?

“That reminds me,” she says. “I’ll need to take off for a few hours next week to do that ultrasound and the blood tests. Is that okay?”

Sam drops the plates in the dishwasher and lifts his head. “Ultrasound?”

Monica arches an eyebrow. “Abby didn’t tell you? I’m having this screening ultrasound next week.”

He frowns. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all!” She clutches her chest. “I would tell you if there were. This is something everyone gets. But it’s a chance to see the baby. Do you want to come?”

“Uh…” Sam glances in my direction, then back at Monica. He seems like he’s looking at her abdomen, but he could also be looking at her boobs. Not that I would blame him, because they’re pretty spectacular right now. “Yeah, of course I would. That would be incredible.”

She brightens. “Hey, I recorded the heartbeat at my appointment last week. Do you want to hear it?”

He nods vigorously. “Yeah, definitely.”

Monica and Sam go back to the living room and sit together on the couch, while I take the loveseat. She gets out her phone and scrolls to the recording she took last week. Then she presses “Play.”

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

His eyes widen. “That’s the heartbeat?”

She nods.

I wouldn’t have expected it from Sam, because he’s not an emotional sort of guy, but his eyes start to get misty the same way mine and Monica’s did in the examining room. He listens to the whole thing, then he makes her play it a second time.

“That’s amazing,” he breathes.

She grins at him. “That’s our baby.”

Her words hit me like a punch in the gut. Our baby. No, it’s not our baby. This fetus inside her is my baby. Mine and Sam’s. Even if she’s using a general “our” to include me too, it’s still inaccurate. This is not her baby. We have a contract. What the hell is wrong with her?

And why is she sitting so close to my husband? This is a very large couch. She’s got the whole couch to spread out on, but somehow, she’s so close to him, their knees are nearly touching.

I want this girl out of my house.

“Anyway,” I say. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it here sooner, Monica, but it’s been great having you.”

“Well, thanks for inviting me,” she says. “The lasagna was really delicious, Abby.”

I’ll have to take her word for it. I’ve lost my appetite.

“Not as good as mine though,” Sam says with a grin.

Her eyes widen. “You know how to cook?”

“Uh…” He offers a crooked smile. “I’m… learning.”

She claps her hands together. “I’d love to try something you’ve made sometime.”

“Sure,” he says. “That sounds great.”

Great, now they’re setting up another dinner? I’ve got to get her out of here ASAP. Before she moves herself in.

But before I can say anything else, Sam heaves himself to his feet. “Well, it’s late. You should probably get going.”

My shoulders relax. He’s making her leave. Thank God. But I don’t even have a chance to celebrate before he adds, “Let me give you a ride home.”

The other night he didn’t want her near his car, but now he’s apparently willing to drive her home drunk . I’ve never seen him try to drive before when he’s had more than one drink. Never . What has she done to his brain?

“You’re not getting in the car,” I say through my teeth. “You’re way over the limit, Sam. ”

Sam’s ears get red as he realizes what he was about to do. “Yeah, Abby’s right,” he mumbles. “I shouldn’t be driving. Let me call you a taxi.”

“Thank you.” Monica grabs her purse from the end of the couch. “And Sammy, I’ll text you the time for the ultrasound appointment, okay?”

He gives her a thumbs-up, and all I can think is, When did they exchange phone numbers?

And also, Why does she keep calling him Sammy?

I take a deep breath. I need to calm down.

It’s not Monica’s fault I got delayed at work by Miss Oxford.

It’s not Monica’s fault Sam drank too much and is acting like an idiot.

And it’s not Monica’s fault that she’s more attractive than I thought she was.

It’s also not her fault that she’s pregnant with Sam’s seed.

That last one is entirely my fault.

God, I can’t wait for this pregnancy to be over so things can get back to normal.